


In which Graves is a Jedi and the force is apparently a voyeur

by Aethelar



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Droid!Modesty, Jedi!Graves, M/M, Padawan!Credence, Slave!Newt, Twi'lek!Chastity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22893796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelar/pseuds/Aethelar
Summary: So in the original version Qui Gon and Obi Wan crash land on Tattooine and find mini!Anakin to start everything off. In this version Graves and Credence crash land on Tattooine and find not-mini!Newt.
Relationships: Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111





	In which Graves is a Jedi and the force is apparently a voyeur

The Jedi code is simple. A well worn, familiar mantra that has seen Graves safely through the good and bad parts of his life so far. It’s a comfort, a beacon, a paragon of calm that’s doing _sod all_ to fix the kriffing ship, and, as Graves _rationally and logically_ reminds himself, it’s been pondered and contemplated by far wiser minds than his, so if the code says he should trust the force and keep his cool then he’s damn well going to trust the bloody force and keep the last fraying threads of his cool.

“Everything alright, master?” his padawan asks in a deliberately offhand tone.

“How old are you?” Graves asks in lieu of an answer.

Credence blinks. “Seventeen last I checked, same as I was this morning.”

“Then ask me again when you’re old enough for me to stop censoring my language around you.” He turns away so he can pretend he doesn’t see Credence laughing at him and hits another button on the flashing control panel. “Chastity! Where’s the power at?”

“What power?” Chastity yells back from somewhere in the bowels of the engine. “You expect me to pull it out the air, wizard?”

“Knight! I’m a Jedi Knight, we’ve been over this!”

Chastity shouts something rude. And explicit. Credence pretends to cover his ears and Graves fights the urge to glare at him. He’s zen, fuckdamnit, his feelings have bled away in the force and he’s one with the universe and the universe is at peace.

Actually that’s a bald faced lie, the universe is teetering on the edge of a war between the Republic and the Separists, but. Point still stands. Graves is zen.

_Chastity says we need parts,_ the little Model ST droid whistles, rolling down the corridor towards them. _I have a list._ It whirrs, then opens a slot and produces a shopping list. It’s written on a pink datapad. Of course it is.

Credence takes the datapad and pats the droid on the head. “Thanks, Mod-ST. There’s a trading port not too far from here, tell Chastity we’ll have her parts by sundown.”

“Which of us is the master and which is the padawan here?” Graves mutters under his breath. He squints at the list. “Also don’t go making promises you can’t keep, that’s an expensive list for a backwater planet.”

“I trust in the force,” Credence says serenely, and Graves resists the urge to stick his tongue out.

-

Helpfully, the backwater planet has enough of the parts Chastity needs to get them airborne, at least for a short trip to somewhere better stocked.

Unhelpfully, the backwater planet has never heard of Republican credits.

“They’re credits,” Graves explains patiently, “which are valid in the Republic. You know. The big governing body that sits around doing jack all and arguing over obvious decisions. The head honchos. The ruling bigwigs. They wear big robes.”

“Tattooine is Hutt space,” the Toydarian huffs. “You got peggats, we got your parts. You got fake money, you get sand.”

Graves does not growl. Or glare. “Thank you for the advice,” he says with admirable restraint. “And how, please, would I go about exchanging for peggats?”

The Toydarian scratches at the base of a tusk, then gestures at Credence with a lazy hand. “I’d give you four hundred for the boy.”

The vague notion of taking the money and then rescuing Credence in a high stakes daring escape flashes briefly through Graves’ mind before he forcibly dismisses it. They’ve done crazier things in his time as Credence’ master, sure, but never actually on purpose. Besides, it probably isn’t the most Jedi-approved of plans, and Graves is nominally meant to be a responsible adult.

“What, me?” Credence asks, blinking in shock. “You’re talking about slavery!”

Yyyeeeaahhh, that’s the other reason of course that Graves shouldn’t be planning to sell his padawan, even in pretence. He winces at his own insensitivity; slavery in the republic is an outdated concept found in stories and history, but that’s far from true on the outer rim. Making light of something thousands of people suffer through every day is… not Graves’ proudest moment.

“Jedi don’t deal with slavers,” he says out loud, sharper than he means to. “Credence, let’s go.”

They sweep out of the shop in a swirl of brown cloaks (heavy, hot, designed for the chill of space rather than the oppressive heat of a desert planet and if Graves never has to come back to this hellhole again he’ll be _delighted_ ).

“Slavers?” Credence repeats, jogging to keep up. He sounds bewildered, and though a large part of Graves wants to protect that innocence, he knows it’s better that Credence understands. “The Republic doesn’t allow -”

“We’re outside the reach of the Republic,” Graves interrupts gently. “Slavery is abhorrent, but it’s still a fact of life for many people in the galaxy.” He pauses, debating with himself whether to point Credence at Chastity or not. She’s a Twi’lek, and he knows that her life hasn’t been wholly untouched by slavery, but she’s also close-mouthed about her past. Not his secrets to tell, he decides.

“But we’re Jedi,” Credence says, horrified. “Can’t we do something?”

“You’re _Jedi?_ ” someone blurts, and Graves whirls round with a hand dropping to his lightsaber. He steps back immediately, arms up in a calming gesture as the man that spoke flinches back. “Sorry!” the man says. “Sorry, sorry, I just - you’re really Jedi?”

He’s human, or looks it, several years older than Credence. His curly hair is bleached red-blond by the sun and his tanned skin is covered in freckles, across his face and down to the shoulders his loosely gathered tunic does very little to cover. By the scars that also mar his shoulders and paint down his forearms, he’s almost certainly a slave.

_Oh no,_ Graves thinks, not daring to look back at Credence. He can feel down the padawan bond as Credence’s horror morphs into a resolute righteousness.

“We’re Jedi,” Credence agrees, stepping forward with a winning smile. Why. Credence, why. Graves had literally _just_ decided to avoid daring slave-rescue shenanigans. “I’m Credence, and my master is Graves.”

“Master?” the slave asks, gaze flicking nervously to Graves.

“Not that kind of master!” Credence hurries to clarify. “Sorry, it’s, um, it’s a translation error. I guess he’d be more… my teacher?”

“Oh,” the slave says, nodding at Graves with a new respect. Graves nods back and tries hard to look serene and Jedi-like. Then the slave smiles. _Oh no,_ Graves thinks again, and tries harder with his serenity. “My name is Newt,” the slave says. “You need engine parts, right?”

Credence agrees enthusiastically, and Graves resigns himself. He’s a Jedi, he reminds himself. Even if it’s only one slave, he can still do something. He and Credence have done crazier things, and they might even get Chastity’s approval for this one.

Newt grabs his hand to tug him down the street and the force around him all but purrs in happiness.

_Oh no,_ Graves thinks for the third time with a sudden, swooping realisation. He’s not prophetic, but he’d have to be a literal swamp fungus not to pick up on the vision the force is gleefully shoving at him. He waves his Jedi code at it in a pathetic attempt at defence, but the force changes the angle of the vision and fast forwards a few minutes.

Graves trips over his cloak.

Fuck _damnit_ , the force is a voyeur. Is nothing private. Graves is never going to jack off again.

“You alright, teacher?” Newt asks staring back with wide eyes and Graves forcefully ejects _all_ force visions from his consciousness. He’s screwed. So very screwed.

_Yes,_ the force preens, and Graves flushes scarlet.

“I’m fine,” he croaks.

Very quietly, where only Newt can hear, the force whispers, _yes._


End file.
